Chapter Eight

Speare had always admitted (usually only to himself) that he had seen some pretty messed up shit in his life and cases, but nothing had prepared him for what happened when the large albino fist slammed into the back of the red skinned son of Satan’s head sending him reeling across the room.
Sax moved to his fallen lover’s side, but the form that stepped through the doorway was larger than the average thug that came to beat the snot out of Speare during a case. He was Hulkish in his sizing, bald and dressed like… “Why do you look like my accountant?”
“Sorry, I got transferred to the CRA after I left the Martyrs.” The thug like man said.
Sax aided Natan up to a chair and adjusted his oxygen hose. His eyes glared into the intruder’s, well technically from a crouch and with the height differential, possibly belt buckle if he was lucky. “Malcolm.”
The tenuitious silence was broken by a lot of coughing and chest rattling from Natan as the oxygen refilled his lungs. If it wasn’t so weird and wondering if this current member of the Canadian Revenue Agency was going to kill someone, this scene could be as hoaky as a death scene from Scream Queens.
“As I was saying before this overstuffed jabroni with the nasty bowtie and sweater vest smoked me upside the head.” Natan winked at Sax as he looked up from the chair at his former teammate. “Reesa was not her first name it was…”
“Jacqueline.” Malcolm finished Natan’s sentence.
Speare nodded. Things were taking a sideways turn especially since he had just learned Jake “Shades” Slick, best hitter on the Martyrs and the Prophets and for the Agency (not to mention whomever else could foot the invoice) never reproduced. Which left the question as to who was the mayor’s hired body guard.
“So who the hell is Slick?” Sax asked what was on everyone’s mind, for Reesa was dead.
Natan slipped his hand into Sax’s as he spoke. Malcolm glowered at Speare. “You can speak freely in front of him, Malcolm. He’s a good guy.” Sax said.
Rumbling in the sky, it was starting to feel like an old noir novel, possibly a Chandleresque outing, but Speare was always partial to Ellery Queen, most notably in the television show where the author turned character would break the fourth wall and speak directly to the audience before the big reveal.
Malcolm leaned against a counter, folded his arms across his chest and let out a hrumph. Lightning illuminated the room. As Speare decided to take his shot at being Queen. “Let’s see what we know. The original Thor entity took a hold of a young John MacCurtis and aged the bastard, he then used this new found power to found a secret black ops crew dubbed the Martyrs. As far as I can tell y’all had no families and he used Supra’s would either not survive the trials or if they did be so fubarred it wouldn’t matter.” The three nodded, so far the, no one was to clear on the actual job title Speare used was, but he was on target. “It all came to a head in a bunker under Balzac. One heckuva fire fight, that led into an even more invasive exorcism on the borderlands that ripped Thor out of MacCurtis, and sadly left Natan as he is now.” Speare exhaled slowly, and contemplated if he should take up drinking with the words coming out of his mouth.
“But here’s the hitch, the entity did not leave MacCurtis alone. Somehow the entity has a hold and led to the murder of a woman named Reesa, and the exorcism of a bloke named Daemon in the foresaid Bunker. Yet MacCurtis under fear of assassination has brought in his own shooter who is supposed to be the legendary Shades’ daughter, only not, and it is starting to look more and more like this shooter is actually the dead woman that started all this.” Speare finished with a question.
“Who sent you here to kill us, Malcolm.”